Slow Heat

by Jill Shalvis

  Or if she even wanted to.

  But he didn’t make a move toward her, just looked at her with those stark green eyes. “I dare you to believe it,” he whispered, and in her stunned silence, he took the empty pizza box, tossed it to the desk, rolled off the bed, and went back to the couch.

  In the morning, the first sound Sam heard was someone singing in the bathroom.

  Off key.

  The bathroom door was open. She could see Wade brushing his teeth as he sang. He wore tux pants and an unbuttoned white tuxedo shirt that revealed a wide strip of broad, hard chest and washboard abs. His hair was wet and silky straight, falling over his forehead.

  Holy cow.

  He lifted his head and took in her undoubtedly bed-head hair and dazed expression, and smiled.

  He hadn’t taken advantage of her last night, which meant that in spite of his smart-ass mouth and smart-ass everything, he was a good guy.

  Unfortunately turned on and not sure what to do with that, she grabbed her last remaining suit and kicked his sexy ass out of the bathroom. By the time she finished getting ready, he was seated on the bed next to her open suitcase, flicking through the channels with the remote. “Daytime TV sucks.”

  His shirt was still open, his feet bare, and yet in spite of it, or maybe because of it, he looked worth every penny of the multimillion dollar guy he was. He took in her carefully tamed hair, makeup, and her pale blue silk suit and smiled. “I love it when my date is smoking hot. I’m starving.” He rubbed his belly. “You have anything to eat?”

  “I have a breakfast bar in my purse.”

  “Is it a nuts and berries number, or something good?”

  “Nuts and berries.”

  “No, thanks. I’d prefer cardboard.” His hair was still damp, and because he was on the wrong side of a haircut, it lay against the nape of his neck. He smelled like himself, which was to say amazing, and his opened shirt kept giving her a peek-a-boo glimpse of those rock-hard pecs and eight-pack abs that could make a grown woman weep with wanting. The muscles bunched as he reached out to tug on her hand.

  Though she wanted to remain far, far away so that she didn’t actually fall to her knees and try to lick him like a lollipop, she allowed him to pull her down next to him.

  And then she saw what was in his other hand, the antique pearl pin she always had on her. “That’s mine.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it on you. It’s pretty. Soft and pretty.” He cocked his head to look at her, and she knew what he was thinking.

  “And I’m not soft,” she said. “I know. It was my mother’s.” Who had been soft and pretty.

  At least in photographs.

  “I think you’re soft,” he said quietly. “When it counts.”

  She ran her finger over the pearls that had once belonged to her great-grandmother, his words meaning far more than they should. The pin was the only thing Sam had of her maternal side of the family. “I wear it because it makes me feel like she’s with me.” She shook her head. “And I have no idea why I just told you that.” She went to move away, but Wade leaned in and held her gaze, then kissed her softly, a kiss that made no sense at all and yet made her ache from the depths of her soul.

  He pulled back, looking as thrown as she felt, so she broke eye contact and pinned the broach to her lapel.

  “She died when you were young,” Wade said quietly.

  “Yes. In fact, my brother killed her.” As his mouth fell open in shock, she stood, turning to the mirror to check herself over. “She died in childbirth. Sorry, my father always found that an amusing way to horrify people.”

  Wade came up behind her. He slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her back against him, and met her gaze in the mirror. “No offense, Sam, but your father is an insensitive ass.”

  “Yes, he can be.” She let out a breath and tilted her head to look up at him. “How about yours? Is he an ass, too? Is that why—”

  He set a finger to her lips. “Still not going there.” He let go of her, watching as she applied lip gloss. “While you were in the shower, your phone rang.”

  “I had the ringer off.”

  “Okay, so it lit up silently. You smell good enough to eat, Sam. Is that peach-flavored gloss?”

  “What?” She turned to stare at him. “Why did you answer my phone?”

  “Because it was The Man. Your father himself.” The world-class athlete who caught balls whipping toward his face at ninety-plus miles per hour shuddered. “Christ, he’s scary.”

  She had to laugh. “You’re not scared of anything, not even him.”

  “Not true. I’m scared of plenty.”

  “Like?

  “Like not getting food. Hungry, Sam.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What did you tell him?”

  “Not that you keep kissing me. Or that you slept in my bed. And sure as hell not that you were in my shower. Naked. Wet. Glistening. All soapy . . .” His eyes glazed over and he gave himself a shake. “Sorry, but that’s a really great image.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as he sat on the bed and pulled on a pair of socks. He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Standard-issue male fantasy. Hot girl in the shower.” He stood and began to button his shirt.

  “So what didyou tell my father?”

  “It was what he wanted to tell you.” The good humor drained from his eyes as he tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. “Jeremy’s in a ninety-day rehab program for prescription drugs. He’s—”

  “Yeah. I already know.” She headed for the closet to get the strappy heels that would give her height and power. She was going to need both today. Too bad there wasn’t a closet where she could grab some extra common sense because she sure as hell needed some of that.

  “Nice,” he said about the heels. “So you know about the rehab? You’re okay?”

  “When are you going to learn? I’m always okay.” But since that was a big, fat lie, and she knew her eyes would give her away in a heartbeat, she grabbed her purse, keeping her face averted. “You coming, or what?”

  He caught her at the door. “Hey. Hey,” he murmured when she tried to shrug him off. He merely tightened his grip and turned her around to face him.

  She studied his chest. Not a hardship. “Wade, you’re hungry, remember?”

  “Not going to distract me.” He tipped up her chin with a finger and looked her over. “Well, unless you’re ready to admit how bad you want me.”

  “I admit nothing. Finish buttoning your damn shirt. Get your damn shoes. We’re out of here.”

  And to make sure of it, she pushed past him and let herself out, leaving him to swear and scramble to catch up.

  Chapter 9

  Swing hard, in case they throw the ball where you’re swinging.

  —Duke Snider

  Later, Samantha sat in the gloriously decorated resort garden with the other wedding guests, watching the bridal party take their places. Watching as, along with the rest of the groomsmen, Wade escorted grandmothers and elderly aunts down the aisle with that long-legged grace and easy hello, his smile turning a little misty along with the rest of the party as the vows were spoken.

  And afterwards, at the open, beautiful, lovely reception, she was still watching as he danced with a little girl who had sweetly asked him, helped serve when they were short-handed, and gave a moving toast to the bride and groom.

  Sam was seated at a table with the other Heat players who’d been invited, and right next to the Heat’s manager, Gage. She and Gage had a longtime ease with each other, and had been having a good time. It was hard not to have a good time with Gage. He was a mix of his Latino father and supermodel mother, and within the confines of baseball, possessed a will of sheer steel that served him well. Outside the sport, like today, he let loose a little bit, and attracted nearly as many women as his players did.

  On her other side was Pace, no slouch in the catching-women department himself, though the Heat’s ace pitcher had eyes only for his fiancée these days, as
proven when Pace slipped his arms around Holly and kissed her with a soft smile.

  And when a slow song came on, Pace led Holly to the dance floor. Soon as his seat was empty, Wade moved in. He kicked the chair even closer to Sam and dropped into it, stretching out his tux-covered legs with a sigh.

  “Tired?” she asked.

  “Whipped. All this flowers and hearts and love-love-love is pretty exhausting work. Hope Mark knows what he’s getting into.”

  Sam looked over at Mark, dancing with his new bride, wearing a wide dopey grin. “I think he knows.”

  Wade looked at them and shook his head. “One woman for the rest of his life. No more quickies. No more unknowns. Just a ball and chain.”

  She laughed. “Is that what you really think of love?”

  He flashed her a quick grin. “Nah. Just figured it’s what you think of it and I wanted to be agreeable today.”

  “Why today?”

  His grin widened and he slung an arm around her. He’d removed his jacket. The white shirt stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. She lifted her eyes to his, and found him looking at her. “So,” she asked, suddenly needing to know. “What do you really think of love?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I think it’s great as long as it’s fun. No stress, no anxiety, no worries. Light and easy required.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think love always works that way.”

  “Really?” His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, bringing a tingle to her entire body. “So you’ve been in love then?”

  “No,” she had to admit. “But nothing with such deep emotion can ever be fun and stress-free all the time.”

  “Well, then, maybe that’s why I’m not in it. Because if it’s not light and easy, preferably with lots of sex, then forget-about-it.”

  She knew by the little smile on his face he was messing with her. “You really like to perpetuate this whole laid-back, dumb jock thing, don’t you? But I’m on to you, Wade. I know you go deeper.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “No,” Pace agreed, coming back from the dance floor, leaning over Wade’s shoulder. “He really doesn’t.”

  Wade put his hand to Pace’s face and pushed. Pace laughed and turned his back on them to cuddle with Holly, then walked with her to the open bar.

  “You go deeper,” Sam said to Wade. “I’ve seen you. With Pace, with the other guys. And Mark told me you send money to your father every month. A ton of money.”

  “A ton is relative.”

  “You work with kids. You build ballparks for them to have a place to play. You and Pace create clubs that provide coaching, something positive to do after school.”

  He shrugged. “Money’s meant for spending.”

  “Don’t do that,” she said quietly. “Don’t underrate what you do.”

  “Okay, as long as you don’t overrate it. Look, I have money, more than I need. So I give it. The end.”

  She sighed and shook her head. So she wasn’t going to get him to admit he had more substance to him than a rock, fine. What did she care?

  “And you’re one to talk, Princess. You haven’t exactly been doing the deep thing either. Or the love thing, for that matter. Why not, if you’re all for it?”

  “Because if I’m going to let someone into my life, it’s going to be for the long haul. And yet I’m surrounded by players. Literally and figuratively.”

  “Ah.” Amused, he nodded. “Because if you’re going to go for it, the ball and chain and all, you want someone serious, like you. Good plan, I’m sure you’ll laugh a lot. And hey, the sex should be perfunctory.”

  “We’ll laugh,” she said, a little defensive.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And we’ll have great sex.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Won’t you both be too busy reading the manuals to make sure you’re doing it right?”

  Even knowing he was baiting her, she couldn’t keep her quiet. “You know that I do it right. You had a damn good time in that elevator, too. I remember. You—” He’d come hard with her, holding her through it, pressing his pelvis to hers for long moments afterwards as if to savor the last of their pleasure, and remembering it had a blush creep up her face. “You had a good time, too,” she finished softly, unable to stop from meeting his gaze for the confirmation.

  He played with a strand of her hair, twirling that strand on a finger, reeling her in until they were nose to nose, as if they were lovers for real. “Is it your turn for fishing now?” he murmured.

  Dammit. Yes. She lifted a hand to push him away, but remembered that they were out in public, and therefore a couple, and left it on his chest. “I don’t need to fish. I know it was good for you. Just as you know . . .” She broke off, deciding to let it pass.

  But did he ever let an awkward moment go? Hell, no. He jumped on it with both feet. “Just as I know it was good for you,” he murmured, eyes heated and sparkling as he paused meaningfully. “Twice.”

  More heat flooded her cheeks and she sat back, ignoring his soft laugh. In the end, when he’d still been buried inside her, he’d dropped his forehead to hers, and in perhaps the sweetest memory she had of him, he’d let out a low breath, kissed her jaw, and whispered, “Going to be hard to walk away from you, Sam.”

  Granted, she’d been supremely plowed at the time, but she could remember clinging to him, having to bite back the urge to ask why he’d have to walk away at all.

  And then, in the name of self protection, she’d walked away first.

  She’d made herself, to avoid thinking about it too much, to avoid the wondering, but mostly to squelch that secret little hope that they could make something work between the two of them.

  In the haze of the next morning’s hangover, she’d been able to admit that had been the alcohol talking. They could never make anything between them work, not when at their core, they were two totally different people, with two totally and completely different sets of hopes and dreams.

  “Sam?”

  She looked at him.

  “It was good for me,” he said softly. He paused a moment, watching his fingers play with her hair. “I’m just not sure that a repeat wouldn’t kill me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You were like a freight truck, Princess. Hot and fast and too much for me to handle.”

  Yeah, right.He couldn’t possibly mean that. Unless he meant . . . “Are you saying I’m high maintenance?”

  “On the contrary.” With that enigmatic statement, he lifted two fresh flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handed her one and gently knocked his to hers in an unspoken toast.

  “You confuse me,” she said.

  “Ditto.”

  They both sat back now, eyeing each other like two formidable boxers in the ring, deciding on their next strategy. By all rights, they would probably kill each other if they ever were insane enough to try for round two. So why a secret part of her was still tempted, she had no idea.

  She chalked it up to the sentimentality of being at a wedding, to the fact that she’d been in close quarters with him for over twenty-four hours now, and the forced intimacy had gone straight to her head.

  And to the fact that she couldn’t stop looking at him in that tux, and wondering how long it would take her to get it off of him.

  A flash went off right in their faces, and Sam nearly jumped out of her skin.